


In a Roman Garden

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Series: When in Rome [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Romans, Anal Sex, Bottom Mycroft Holmes, Dirty Talk, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Top Greg Lestrade, romans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 23:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19859977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: Consul Mycroft and General Greg in, well, a Roman garden





	In a Roman Garden

Mycroft circulated through the feast, bored already. A victory was good for Rome, and Gods knew they’d take any excuse for a party, but he’d always found them tedious.

“Consul,” growled a familiar voice behind him.

Mycroft turned. “General,” he said carefully. “So good to see you’ve returned safely.”

Greg gave him a smirk, sipping his wine and looking at him appraisingly. “Had some business to attend to.”

“Did you,” said Mycroft, stepping closer to him.

Greg leaned in and kissed his throat. “What do you say we get out of here?”

“That may be, perhaps, your wisest decision to date.” Mycroft was aware of the danger. Anyone could come along and see them together. But Greg was far more intoxicating than the wine.

Greg’s hand slid along Mycroft’s hip, pulling him closer. Mycroft shivered at the rough touch of the soldier. Greg kissed his shoulder, the stubble of his beard dragging against his skin.

“This… isn’t leaving,” said Mycroft, angling his head to give him room.

“Observant,” muttered Greg, putting his wine glass down on the nearest statue and pulling Mycroft into the garden.

They were far from the only couple seeking a quiet corner amongst the statues and foliage. Greg moved with easy confidence. Mycroft would follow him anywhere. Finally though, Greg pulled him down onto a sheltered bench, cupping his cheek and kissing him deeply.

Mycroft moaned softly, his hand on Greg’s knee, slowly sliding up his thigh.

Greg sat back and gave him a wolfish grin, taking Mycroft’s hand and placing it directly on his manhood, clearly impatient. “Touch me,” he ordered.

It was a good thing Mycroft was already sitting.

He wrapped his hand around the thick length and gave him a stroke. Greg leaned back in the dim light, eyes closed and his hips undulating slowly with Mycroft’s movement. Mycroft leaned in and nibbled on his throat, breathing in the leather and sweat of him.

Greg put an arm around Mycroft’s waist and drew him closer. “My greatest treasure,” he murmured.

Mycroft moaned against his skin. Greg tugged up on his toga until he could squeeze bare flesh. Mycroft shifted to give Greg more room.

“I’d hoped I’d find you here tonight,” whispered Greg, teasing him with dry, rough fingers.

Mycroft let go of his cock to straddle his waist, settling his knees uncomfortably on the bench. “You can always find me.”

Greg wrapped him in his arms and lifted him before laying him back on the grass. “My conquest,” he growled.

“Yours,” answered Mycroft, legs falling open, more than willing to give himself over. Greg pulled out some oil from a pouch on his hip and leaned in to nibble on Mycroft’s thighs as he coated his fingers.

Mycroft moaned again. He could face down any political enemy, but in the arms of his general he was deliciously helpless.

Greg raised his head to kiss him, pushing in his fingers. Mycroft could feel the whorl of every digit and welcomed it.

Mycroft rolled his hips. Greg’s beard was rough on his skin, his free hand toying with Mycroft’s hair. He knew from experience that there was no rushing Greg when he wanted to take his time.

“And how do you occupy yourself when I’m away?” he asked, adding another finger and pumping them a little faster. “Do you touch yourself in the night and imagine it’s me?” 

Mycroft opened his mouth but any reply was stolen by the crook of Greg’s fingers.

Greg gave a wicked grin and slid down, rubbing his scruffy cheek against the soft skin of Mycroft’s thigh, wanting him to remember in the morning. Mycroft shivered, his cock leaking heavily against his stomach.

“I am going to fuck you, Consul,” grinned Greg raising his head to bestow a kiss to Mycroft’s manhood. “With your permission.”

“Granted,” said Mycroft quickly, nearly whimpering as Greg’s tongue laved the head of his cock.

Greg carefully withdrew his fingers and moved up, kissing Mycroft, tongue claiming his mouth as he guided himself into him.

There was no greater pleasure in Mycroft’s life than being filled by Greg. He wrapped his legs around Greg’s waist, encouraging him deeper. Greg’s hands ruined his hair as he thrust slowly.

Mycroft turned his head to break the kiss and bit down on Greg’s earlobe. “I thought you were going to fuck me.”

Greg growled, biting Mycroft’s impertinent lip. He thrust hard, earning a breathy moan.

Mycroft’s eyes slipped closed. Greg grasped his wrists and pinned them to the ground, grunting as he took what he wanted.

It was perfect. Mycroft arched with the pleasure, so close already and unable to quite get there with his cock untouched.

“You’ll come when I say,” rumbled Greg, leaning in to suck a mark into his collarbone.

Mycroft bit his lip to keep from crying out, tasting blood.

As he neared his climax, Greg lost his rhythm, fucking Mycroft with abandon. Mycroft opened his eyes to see the sheer lust on his face, eyes impossibly dark and hungry.

Greg’s eyes slammed shut as he came, thrusting through his orgasm, dropping his head to Mycroft’s shoulder, panting against his skin.

Mycroft’s cock ached for attention but he ignored it, gently running his fingers through Greg’s hair instead.

After a few long minutes, Greg rallied himself. “Your turn, my sweet,” he murmured, kissing Mycroft and taking him in hand.

Mycroft came nearly at the moment of touch, his cry muffled by Greg’s lips. His hands dragged down Greg’s shoulders.

They lay tangled together, panting. Mycroft kissed him gently. “I insist you come to my villa,” he said softly, teasing the hair at the nape of Greg’s neck.

Greg raised his head and smiled at him, carefully pulling out. “I’d imagine you’ve got a fine vintage you’d like me to try.”

“Among other things,” said Mycroft. He accepted Greg’s hand up and carefully straightened his clothes.

Greg leaned in and kissed his throat again. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> So I got inspired by [this](https://twitter.com/HHTheMovie/status/1151856043745579008) clip. Roman General Rupert Graves can get it.
> 
> Much thanks to Paialovespie,lmirandas and a studyinfic for reading along and encouraging.
> 
> Written in an hour and unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine.


End file.
